


Guns Blazing

by MemeKonVLD (MemeKonYA)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Handcuffs, Humor, Insecure Lance (Voltron), Light Angst, M/M, POV Keith (Voltron), Pining Keith (Voltron), Porn with Feelings, with a side of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 05:55:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11052714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MemeKonYA/pseuds/MemeKonVLD
Summary: “C’mon, Keith, buddy, pal,my man,” Lance wiggles pitifully in his direction, lips pursed into a faux pout.Keith smirks.“Oh, I don’tknow,” Keith teases, and squats just outside of Lance’s reach. “Maybe if you ask nicely.”“Really?” Lance whines at him, but then sighs and says, soft as butter, “Could you uncuff me,pretty please?”(Or: Three times there were handcuffs.)





	Guns Blazing

**Author's Note:**

> Self-indulgent and unbeta'ed.

**I.**

“C’mon, Keith, buddy, pal, _my man_ ,” Lance wiggles pitifully in his direction, lips pursed into a faux pout.

Keith smirks.

“Oh, I don’t _know_ ,” Keith teases, and squats just outside of Lance’s reach. “Maybe if you ask nicely.”

“ _Really?_ ” Lance whines at him, but then sighs and says, soft as butter, “Could you uncuff me, _pretty please_?”

Keith’s smirk broadens. His stomach feels funny, tight and filled and _good_ , and he wants to chase the feeling like he would an adrenaline rush during a drill back at the Garrison. 

“Is that the best you can do?”

Lance’s face goes through a few different expressions fast as lightning, finally stopping at a stunned gape. “ _Keith_ ,” he whines again, his voice higher, “are you really—? We bonded, Keith. We had a bonding moment. We _held hands_.” 

“Oh, so _now_ you remember that, huh?”

“Oh, come _on_ , are you still mad about that?”

“Am I _still_ —? That wasn’t even a day ago, Lance.” 

“Time is relative— a construct, you know? There’s basically no time in space. What day’s today? Who knows.” 

Keith lifts an eyebrow. Lance sighs and then gives him the biggest, wettest, most absurdly ( _charming_ ) impressive puppy eyes he’s ever seen.

“Uncuff me please? I think I can feel something crawling inside my suit and I’m freaking out.”

Absurd. 

“ _Please?_ I’ve got a _really_ low tolerance to bugs and I’m sure anything out here’s gonna be more than I can handle. You don’t wanna see me cry, buddy, you really don’t. I’m an ugly crier, believe it or not.”

And even _more_ absurd is that it works, and suddenly Keith’s on his knees helping Lance out of his dumb cuffs.

How seeing Lance’s radiant smile as he gets to his feet, grabs his helmet and shakes dust (and a space bug, potentially) off himself makes him feel —a little nervous, for no reason; a little happy, just itching to smile back; and a little something else that has his gut twisting as Lance’s eyes find his, blue and warm— is the most absurd part of it all, though.

“C’mon, let’s go rescue Hunk’s rock girlfriend,” Lance tells him then, bright and light, throwing a gangly arm over his shoulder and leaning his weight on him, leading the way towards Keith’s lion.

“You’re really heavy, Lance,” he complains with a teasing tone as he softly jabs an elbow against Lance’s side, more because he feels as though it’s what’s expected of him than anything else. 

Lance’s weight feels nice— familiar, for some reason. Comforting. 

“Wow, that’s insensitive, Keith.” Lance tells him, mock outraged, and then goes off in some sort of rant that Keith can only half-follow because every time Lance tries to emphasize a point he makes big gestures with both hands, without ever taking the arm that he has slung around him away, and so his fingers brush against Keith’s hair, or his ear, or his cheek— and Keith hadn’t ever noticed before how distracting getting touched so casually is; how it fries his brain cells a little; how it makes him kind of hyper-aware of every single part that comes in contact with Lance’s soft, warm skin.

He finds himself feeling strangely disappointed when they finally reach his lion, and then feels a little ashamed of it because there are lives at stake, and whatever this is—whatever this weird tingly feeling is, whatever his cheek burning hot on the spot where Lance’s thumb brushed against means— is just not what Keith should be thinking about.

Lance attempts to backseat pilot his lion once they’re settled in, and that gets them into their familiar back and forth, trading barbs with no real sharp edges, and making and accepting challenges at turns that Keith _knows_ are ridiculous (and can read on Lance’s face that he knows the same) and yet won’t back out of because they make him feel pumped, and have his blood rushing excitedly and his heartbeat going a little faster.

Keith could almost forget that _whatever_ , then.

(Almost.)

 

 

**II.**

“ _Stop struggling_ ,” Lance hisses at him as the Galran soldiers back out of the room. 

Keith shoots him a glare. His breath is hitched, and he feels tightly wound, ready to lash out. 

How can Lance be so calm, how can he— why does he accept this— why isn’t he _fighting it_ — 

“Don’t look at me like that, buddy,” Lance grumbles as he lies against one of their cell’s walls— 

(Cell. Their _cell_. Because they were _captured_.) 

— and closes his eyes. He sighs and frowns, a crease over the bridge of his nose drawing Keith’s gaze momentarily. 

“I don’t like this any better than you do. This sucks big time. But struggling is the opposite of helpful right now. You’ll tire yourself out and then when the guards come back to take us to His Royal Brat Lotor, or whatever Zarkon Junior’s called, you’ll be too exhausted to do anything even if— _when_. _When_ we find an opening. And this hurts me deep in my soul to admit, but we know you’re better than I am at close range combat.”

Keith stares at him, the anger still burning through him, but cooling off by the second. Lance doesn’t look back at him, doesn’t open his eyes. 

Keith’s heart hurts inside his chest, beating fast and clumsy, and as his muscles start slowly unclenching, he feels like a balloon losing air fast. Drifting, aimless. 

“How do you do it.” He asks. Says. Both.

Lance opens up an eye and shoots him an inquisitive look.

“How do I do what?” He asks, and there’s honest curiosity in his voice.

“How do you— ” He wants to make a kind of motion, but he’s— he’s fucking cuffed, and apparently underneath all that energy and all that anger there was an edge of anxiety. He makes the gesture anyway— awkward and short, a sad thrust that doesn’t say much of anything— pushes through the feeling, because he won’t let the Galra Empire win any more battles against him. 

“How do you stay so calm?” He says finally, and he feels his lip drag downwards a little when he recognizes a hint of sulking envy in his tone that he hopes against hope Lance won’t read. 

“I’m so far from calm right now, pal.” Lance tells him then, now with both eyes open. He’s shooting him a slightly bemused lopsided smile. “Calm has left the building eons ago, up in flames.”

“You always do this,” he replies, and he moves to sit down next to Lance, sagging against the wall. “You’re so— _logical_. For this kind of thing,” he points out when Lance’s eyebrows shoot up. “Like back in the Balmera, when you stopped me from hurting it. And the time with the transport hub—”

“You mean the time when you completely disregarded our orders and my sage advice?”

“... Yeah, sorry about that, I guess.” 

Silence settles between the both of them for awhile following that, before Lance sort of slumps against him and makes some kind of weird coughing sound.

“It’s nothing special,” he says then, and it sounds off in a way that Keith can’t really understand, too airy, too light. “You’re just a tiny bit too much of a hothead sometimes, always wanting to go in guns blazing and all, in true avenging fury of Voltron style.”

Keith can’t hold a smile back at the way Lance says that.

“If you ever tell anyone I said this I’ll lie, I’ll lie so much my mom will be mad at me without knowing why back on Earth,” Lance tells him suddenly, and Keith turns his head to look at him— Lance’s gaze is locked on the cell’s door, however, and there’s something on his face that gives Keith a familiar itch, ties a very recognizable knot in his stomach— 

_Not the time_ , he tells himself, _whatever this is, it’s not the time_ — 

“I think it’s a little cool,” Lance admits finally, eyes sliding for a second to look at him as he says that, and then back to the door. 

_Not the time_ shatters. _Not the time_ shatters into a billion little pieces, and Keith is handcuffed in a cell in an enemy ship, about to be handed off to a tyrant, and he’s still a little bit of a mess, blushing and getting clammy hands, and— 

And _not the time_ is suddenly the last thing in his mind, has suddenly been shoved inside a dusty old chest in his mind, under old elementary school lessons and other inane things.

“I think you’re cool too,” he blurts out.

He doesn’t know what to expect after that, but it’s definitely not what happens.

“Really?”

Keith frowns.

Lance’s eyes are still on the door, but his expression has changed completely, has shut down in a way that Keith has never seen before. It’s more unsettling than the cuffs on him, than the cell they’re in. 

“Yeah,” he replies, because he doesn’t know what else to say. 

He knows there’s a problem, but has no idea how to identify it, or if he could even solve it once he did. 

“I don’t know why I’m a paladin,” Lance tells him after a few minutes of heavy, tense silence. “All of you— all of you have a _thing_ , you know? Something that makes you the perfect candidates, the perfect fit for the titles of defenders of the universe. Something to contribute to the team. And I feel like I’m— I don’t know, I feel like I’m just here because I was in the right place at the right time, and got dragged into this with the rest of—”

“—That’s stupid,” Keith interrupts. 

“What?” Lance turns to look at him, dumbfounded.

“That’s stupid,” Keith repeats, louder, outraged.

“I’m baring you my _soul_ here,” Lance exclaims. Keith notices that he looks livelier than he did before, sees his face becoming animated with a sort of overblown indignation that makes him look hilarious in context, handcuffed and sitting by Keith in a dark, humid holding cell.

“Blue chose you,” Keith replies, and moves a little so he can comfortably look Lance in the eye as he speaks. “Out of all of us there, Blue chose _you_. You saved Coran from that fake Rover explosion, because somehow you are attentive enough to tell two identical robots apart; and you helped bring Slav back with your sharpshooter skills. Pidge had to take you down first when we faced the Sphinx. You—”

Lance is suddenly on him, clumsily covering Keith’s mouth with his hands at a weird angle, making a shushing sound and frowning at the door.

Keith hears the steps then. Two sets of them. 

Lance looks around the cell, and finally his gaze lands on the ceiling, where he finds something that makes a devilish sort of smile appear on his face. Keith follows his gaze and lands on sturdy metallic rings ( _that must be there to hang prisoners from_ , his brain helpfully supplies).

“So how’s your upper body strength these days?” Lance asks as he slowly stands up.

Keith follows suit, mirroring Lance’s smile.

“Pretty good.”

 

Keith jumps down on the second guard as soon as he’s through the door, and he can hear Lance taking the other one out while he’s distracted.

 

“Thanks,” Lance says some time later, once they’ve found a way to establish communication with the others and have somewhere to hunker down with their stolen weapons to wait for the reinforcements. “You didn’t have to— you didn’t have to reassure me or anything.”

“We’re a team,” Keith protests. “We are supposed to look out for each other. Besides,” he smiles at Lance then, a little cocky. “It’s not like you can go around bragging to everyone about what I said, right? You’d have to tell them you think I’m cool too.”

Lance narrows his eyes at him, mouth gaping in mock horror.

“Have you always been this calculating?”

Keith shrugs.

“Must be the Galra in me.”

Lance has to bury his face into Keith’s shoulder to stifle a loud bout of snickering.

With _not the time_ out of the picture, Keith lets himself feel the rush of excitement, the warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach, the tingling sensation on the tips of his fingers, the sweat on his nape and his palms, the heat on his cheeks.

Lance looks up at him when he’s more or less under control, and when their gazes meet— faces barely a few inches apart, noses almost touching, both of them crammed tightly together in their hiding spot— Keith feels something akin to an electric shock running through him. 

They stay like that for a few seconds, frozen still.

 _I think it’s a little cool,_ he hears Lance in his mind, and remembers the way his face looked when he said that, and it all clicks into place. 

He kisses Lance. A chaste, awkward thing with their noses bumping that’s more pain than anything else, but it’s still good, _great_. 

And when he pulls back Lance looks— he looks wrecked, in the best of ways.

“We have the worst timing in the history of the universe,” Lance says, and he sounds a little choked.

“At least neither of us is dying?”

Lance kisses him then, and the kiss is still awkward, but this time it’s longer, full of promise, of intent.

 

**III.**

“Where did you get these?” He wonders, more than a little amazed. 

Lance shrugs as he pushes Keith back onto their bed, straddling his lap when he’s down, grabbing his handcuffed hands and stretching on top of him until he can tie them to the sturdy headrest. 

“Remember when Nyma handcuffed me to that tree all those years ago?” He asks, as he leans back again, teasing him with his weight on him, ass pressed against his hardening cock. Keith bucks up, and Lance gives him a playful smile as he puts a hand on his chest. “I never gave those back. Figured it was a public service.”

Keith smirks.

“Really?”

Lance’s eyebrows shoot up, even as his hand makes its way down Keith’s stomach and under the elastic band of his underwear, teasing at the head of his dick with the pad of his thumb.

“Are you implying I had anything but good intentions?”

Keith raises an eyebrow through the arousal, and looks down at where Lance is teasing him, having moved his hips only enough to give his hand room to tease him while he can still make little undulating motions and press his clothed crotch down on Keith’s.

Lance chuckles.

“Let me show you just how good my intentions are,” he hums at him, eyes going half-lidded as he licks his lips, lifting his hips to drag Keith’s underwear down maddeningly slow.

He looks up at him as his cock bobs free, and holds his gaze as he takes it in hand and slithers down the bed until he can comfortably dip his head down and lick a long stripe from the base to the tip, circling around it and teasing the slit.

Keith forgets anything about intentions right then, his world narrowing down to the wet heat of Lance’s mouth on him, and the intensity of his blue eyes, and the maddening way he’s at his mercy, unable to reach out to him, to touch him, to do anything but let Lance take him apart with his tongue and his hands and the dirty things that he says, interspersed with the kinds of sweet things that only someone like him could come up with.

Keith keeps bucking up into Lance’s touch, keeps trying to fuck his mouth, the way Lance likes him to sometimes, only to have Lance pulling away time and time again, a wicked glint in his eyes as Keith makes frustrated noises.

He makes Keith watch as he gets himself ready, makes a show out of it, working himself until he’s pliant and loose, fucking himself on three of his long fingers, lube dripping down his wrist.

And then he sinks on his cock, slowly, letting Keith feel every inch that he swallows up until he’s balls deep in him, until Lance is sitting on his cock, his breath stuttering as he accommodates Keith’s girth, eyes closed.

He’s gorgeous like that, and Keith can’t touch him, can’t do anything other than make pained noises and wait for him.

Lance rides him slow, enjoying himself, letting himself feel every thrust, _using_ Keith.

It’s one of the most arousing things he’s ever felt, has him on the verge of coming the entire time.

He only comes, however, when Lance touches himself until he comes all over Keith’s stomach and chest, after playing with his dick the way Keith does, a little rougher than Lance does it himself when he’s jerking off. Lance’s face, the shape of his lips as he gasps, the way he closes his eyes, the crease between his brows, all of it tips him over.

 

(“See? Good intentions.” Lance tells him later, as he sits next to him in bed and rubs some soothing balm on Keith’s wrists, even though they’re barely even red.

Keith hums in agreement.)

**Author's Note:**

> [ Come and hang out with me on tumblr!](http://memekon.tumblr.com)


End file.
